


the kids of tomorrow

by skygrace



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Ending, Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skygrace/pseuds/skygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>katniss everdeen and peeta mellark died in the 74th hunger games. but panem's revolution is long overdue. ( a fic in which prim becomes the mockingjay )</p>
            </blockquote>





	the kids of tomorrow

Primrose Everdeen has never truly felt anger before, but she feels it now as she watches him on stage, cocky and vicious, sitting in the Victor’s throne. Cato, winner of the 74th Hunger Games is a ruthless killer and already the Capitol is eating it up. She feels the hatred weaving through her bones, seeping into her mind as her muscles tense and the caustic tears roll down her cheeks. She holds her mother throughout the entire ordeal as viewership of the Games is mandated by law. 

Her father had died first, and then Katniss. Gone are the only remnants of the Seam from their family, other than the coal stains that mark the walls and their clothing. 

It’s unfair to hate him and Prim knows it, even if he is a brute. Yet the emotion itself is so _utterly_ foreign to her that she isn’t sure where to direct it or who is worthy of its small fire. She’s only ever tried to see the good in people, sheltered from the rest of the world by her sister and protector. For the majority of her life, Prim was a girl who could afford to be kind to the world. This was something she knows her sister cherished in her, the light to all of her sister’s darkness, and at times Prim wonders what Katniss would think if she could see her now. But Katniss isn’t here, and that’s what matters.

Clove was the one who killed her in the end. The Feast was when it all began to go wrong, when her sister was pinned to the ground with several knives bearing down on her. The resulting murder (and it _was_ a murder in Prim’s mind) took more than half an hour and was by far the most painful thing Prim had ever experienced. Yet in all of it, the thing to remember was that Katniss had not screamed once. Nor had she shut her eyes, keeping them trained on her assailant at all times in silent rebellion. It was a part of her that died untouched by fear, and therefore thwarted the purpose of the Games itself.

Peeta died in his sleep by infection and blood poisoning, a marginally peaceful end for a peaceful boy. He too, kept his sense of identity, for what it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

For the first few weeks afterwards, they got by somehow with the help of others. But Prim knows that Gale can’t feed both their families, especially when he’s struggling to feed his own. Neither can Peeta’s father, and the sympathy of the people in the Seam will not last forever. In a place where surviving meant looking after your own, the gifts of food were remarkable in themselves. It all begins to run out, and too soon. 

One day Prim slips underneath the loose area of the fence, right where Katniss had shown her. She gathers dandelions and greens and strawberries, delaying the inevitable when she knows that this is not enough. They’re going to need meat, and there are things that need to be traded for candles and coal and oil. 

Katniss’ bow is still there, wrapped in cloth and hidden in the hollow trunk of a tree. 

Her sister had tried to teach her once, a long time ago. Prim had been a decent shot when she was only shooting at tree trunks. She managed to hit the target at least, even if she had none of her sister’s deadly accuracy. The arrow springs from her bow and hits a rabbit before she knows what’s happened.

The bow falls to the ground and her to her knees in the grass as she cries for the rabbit, but she knows that this isn’t all about the small body in front of her, cradled in wild grass. She stays for what seems like hours there, although she has no way to really count the passage of time. Prim chokes back a small sob as she wipes her face with delicate hands and stands up, the grass having stained clothes that once belonged to Katniss. They’re too big for her, but she doesn’t mind.

 

For all of the time her sister spent here, Prim has never been inside the Hob. From the outside, it looks far more intimidating despite the fact that she knows many of the people doing business within. Her shoes scuff against the concrete floor, shoulders hiked up to her chin, trying not to look as nervous as she feels but her hands are shaking. A voice rings out behind her.

“What are you doing here, girl?” the heavily-accented voice of Greasy Sae breaks through the general chatter of haggling and gossip. Everyone stares at her because they all know who she is, and they know that she doesn’t belong. Most of the looks are filled with pity, but they are directed towards her all the same. Prim’s face begins to crumple before she rallies herself and straightens up, walking towards the old woman that she’s known for years. 

“I’m here because I have something to trade, like everyone else,” her voice is high and clear but as steady as she can make it, although it trembles a little bit at the end. One of Sae’s eyebrow raises but she doesn’t say anything else and only nods once. “Well all right, then. Show me what you’ve got.” 

Greasy Sae has a lot of influence amongst those in the Hob, and with that small gesture she’s marked Prim as one of their own. She watches the younger Everdeen relax and slide her half-full bag across the counter. Sae had started a fund during the Games, once it became apparent that District 12 might actually have a Victor. All of them at the Hob, and those from outside had tried their best to bring Katniss home, but Capitol cruelty overcame their unity with ease. Prim’s game is inferior to her sister’s – the arrow has pierced the body and consequently it will taste like wood. If Sae sold anything but stew, that would be a problem but once it’s in no one will know the difference and she feels strangely attached to this girl despite her Seam sensibilities. Her sister was a good hunter, she tries to reconcile. Maybe if she gives this girl a chance she’ll turn out to be the same. She gives Prim a generous price and she accepts, having no idea of the value of her catch but trusting it to be fair. Still believing that people are good, that there isn’t anybody who would cheat her. 

There’s an ache in her old bones as she watches the young girl walk away, her manner of movement having transformed from dainty steps to purposeful strides. _Ah well_ , Sae exhales, thinking to herself. _Maybe she’s got it in her after all._

 

A few weeks later, Prim asks Gale to teach her to lay a snare.

She sees something fall in his grey eyes, dark and withdrawn since Katniss died. He doesn’t hunt anymore, she knows, because it reminds him of _her_ and Prim regrets hurting him but he’s the best and she doesn’t know who else to go to. 

Snares are easier, less bloody and somehow less _real_ in a way. Gale teaches her one that pulls tight as the animal struggles, with enough force to snap its neck. She doesn’t need to watch, she doesn’t even need to be there. All she has to do is come back after a few hours and retrieve the body. Even if she has long since stopped crying over every single animal she shoots.

She still falls asleep next to her mother every night. She still polishes her father’s mirror and wipes away the coal dust from his things and talks to her friends at school like she used to. On the outside, it looks as if things have gone back to normal, as if a girl named Katniss had never once died for her.

Her heart is bruised. It arms itself with barricades to defend against further damage. 

She wears her sister’s Mockingjay pin on her clothes wherever she goes. The Capitol shipped it to her along with Katniss’ body in a wooden box and has all but forgotten her. There were rumours of sedition when the Girl on Fire was still alive, rumours of smoke rising in the Districts, but now she is dead and they have forgotten.

Prim doesn’t forget.

But the rest of the world has. And now, once again, the Hunger Games have rolled around.

The Quarter Quell

_As a reminder to the rebels that their actions will gain them no reward, there will be no Cornucopia this year._

The Capitol always knows how to stir things up. Prim wonders if there’s an uproar in the Career districts by now, seeing as the Cornucopia is what gives them an edge, year after year. It’s also where the majority of the tributes die, which means that this is just going to drag the Games on longer. 

“Primrose Everdeen!”

It’s the second time in two years that her name has been called, and people all around are beginning to wonder if this was planned. Casting sympathetic glances to Mrs. Everdeen, who is trying hard not to weep at the back. Prim understands that this time, she will have no escape. There is no Katniss to save her from this. In some way, it was almost like it was meant to happen after all.

Haymitch is waiting there on stage for her and he’s wasted out of his mind as usual but more coherent than anyone gives him credit for. _Fuck the Capitol_ , he thinks as she climbs the steps because she’s just a small thing. A little blonde wisp, little girl lost. Only this time, she doesn’t shake or cry. This time, she makes it up without tripping, and her small hand grabs his on a whim, squeezing it tight. It’s at that moment that he realizes two things:

1\. He wants every single person in the Capitol right now to die.  
2\. He needs a fucking drink.

Her partner is Rory Hawthorne, Gale’s brother. She hadn’t been expecting him, hadn’t even known that he had taken out so many tesserae to support his family. He must have done so in secret, to avoid his brother’s anger because Gale had always tried to provide for his family just as Katniss had, but times were hard. Rory doesn’t look back as he climbs the stage, doesn’t hear his brother yelling for him. No doubt Gale would volunteer for him if he were allowed, but he’s 19 now and therefore barred from it.

There’s absolutely nothing he can do.

“Let’a have a big round of applause for our District 12 Tributes, Rory Hawthorne and Primrose Everdeen!” the new announcer squeaks. Prim’s already forgotten her name. Aurelia? Augusta? Something beginning with an A. Effie Trinket’s already moved on to bigger and better districts. This new woman is finding it hard to fill her shoes. They descend, and the media with them, the talking heads all chattering excitedly about this year’s games. The Quarter Quell was always exciting news, and anticipation about this year’s _show_ will only rise.

 

On the train, the silence is pervasive. _Althea_ , their announcer and district representative had tried to make small talk at the beginning, but she didn’t have Effie’s constant cheerfulness and it was showing. A small part of Prim, the part that still remembered the kindness of little girls felt sorry for her. Haymitch is no help, making no movements except draining glass after glass of wine during dinner until finally Althea excuses herself from the awkwardness on the pretence of having something very important to do. Lucky her.

It’s only when she’s left the room that their mentor begins to come to life. “Let me guess. Neither of you has even held a weapon before,” he grunts. A bit of wine dribbles down his beard, staining a shirt that’s more grime than fabric at this point. Rory looks queasy. All that rich food is beginning to get to him. With Gale working in the mines all the time, there had been no one to teach him how to shoot or track, but he’s done a few things like helping to skin the animals his brother brings home. He knows his way around a knife. He’s also strong and well-fed compared to most people from the Seam. “Yeah? And what about you?” Haymitch turns, but he doesn’t look quite look at her. “Your sister teach you anything useful?”

 _She tried_ , Prim thinks. _I didn’t listen._

“I can tie snares,” she says instead, quiet and diminutive as usual, only there’s a steel that most people miss because they see only what they want to. “My mother taught me some things about healing.”

Well great. Their mentor mutters something along the lines of _better than nothing_ under his breath. _I’m getting too goddamn old for this,_ Haymitch thinks and pours himself another drink instead.

 

“Are you going to set me on fire?”

Cinna smiles, but like all of his expressions, it looks vaguely melancholy. He volunteered for District 12 again, even after his hit with the flaming costumes last year meant that he could go anywhere he wanted. Out of loyalty, or just simple nostalgia for the girl he had pinned all of his hopes on, he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t think so, Prim,” he touches her hair softly, a dreamy look in his eyes as he pores over all of the possibilities. Cinna doesn’t have much. He’s not strong, or very rich compared to the citizens of the Capitol. What he does have is _beauty_ , and nobody knows it like he does. He sees it even in the lump of coal pressed in one hand. “I don’t see you burning. But you probably know more about this than I do: what else can you do with coal, other than burn it?” It feels like being in school again, with a syllabus comprised entirely of trade information and propaganda. 

“I’m not sure,” she begins slowly, worrying away at her bottom lip. It tastes weird with the makeup her prep team had slathered on her. “Sorry. They didn’t teach us very much at school.” Cinna shakes his head and smiles again, reassuringly this time, and then presses the coal in her hands, closing her fingers over the cold piece. It gets soot all of her perfectly manicured and moisturized palm. “If you press on coal hard enough, it becomes diamonds,” he whispers, eyes blazing with the passion of either a genius or a madman. Or both. “That’s what we’re going to do, Prim. I’m not going to make you burn, I’m going to make you shine.”

It’s perfect to Cinna. All of those television interviews with her crying last year after Katniss had died had only paved the way to her now. The angle is good, too. It might win some sympathy, and sympathy often brings sponsors who will be invaluable to her survival. Even without realizing that he’s doing it, he’s trying the Katniss project again, because even as a citizen of the Capitol Cinna has felt oppression. He knows that he’s only got these few chances. Knows that there truly are some things worth dying for, and that this is his contribution to a revolution that’s always been waiting in the wings.

Prim, for her part, wonders how long he’s had this planned.

 

The next few days pass in a blur. Prim’s training score is a five, because the Gamemakers weren’t paying attention anyways (too busy getting drunk and eating suckling pig), and tying knots is not exactly thrilling no matter how good they are. 

Her dress is beautiful. There are thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the bodice and skirt that catch the light when she moves. The skirt has sharp corners and edges, held in shape by discreet wire on the underside. Glass slippers on her feet. Diamonds in her hair, draped on her neck, pale glitter dusted all over her skin so that she looks like an ethereal figure that doesn’t quite belong in this world. Except that the image is ruined by her hands and legs, which are so obviously soot-stained. The whole thing gives the impression of gradual change, and the Capitol eats it up. It’s such a novelty, this girl who is nothing like her sister. 

Rory goes first. He’s very handsome, in that Seam way, although he’s not quite as self-assured as his brother is. Sometimes he trips over his words, but all he has to do is smile in that crooked way and the audience is at his feet. He’s dressed entirely in black, playing up his strikingly dark features, except for a good part of his chest that is just as sparkly as Prim’s dress. When they stand side by side the motif becomes evident: he becomes her.

He and Caesar touch on various topics and he talks a lot about his sister Posey which earns a lot of sympathetic sighs from the audience. But at the end of the day he hasn’t made an impression except one of vague attractiveness. The audience is not going to remember details, just fuzzy feelings. When the buzzer rings to signal the end of his time, Prim vows to make sure that they’ll remember her.

“How do you like the Capitol so far, Prim?”  
“It’s…very clean.” The audience laughs, and Caesar chuckles along, pretending to check his clothes for dust. They exchange pleasantries for a few moments (“How old are you?” “I’m 13.” “Are there any boys back at home?” “My mom’s watching, so I can’t say”) until he finally delves into the topics of real interest.

“And what about that training score? Wasn’t it your sister that broke a new record last year? Can we expect great things from you as well?”

She lets the silence draw out, her tiny hands forming into fists at her side.

“I’m going to win, Caesar. For Katniss.”

It’s almost like the audience has stopped breathing at this point.

“For Katniss,” Caesar echoes, putting emphasis on her words, immortalizing them in the hearts and minds of those watching. “Can you tell us a little more about her?”

Prim’s throat closes up. Tears well up in her eyes. But Katniss wouldn’t ever let anyone see her cry, and she can’t either. Her sister was very brave. She is not. But she has to try. 

“She tried to save me last year,” she replies slowly, blinking rapidly until her composure has returned. “But I don’t need saving anymore. And I’m going to make sure that I make her proud.”

“I’m sure you will,” he replies gently, his smile growing as the buzzer sounds. “Primrose Everdeen, ladies and gentlemen! I pity the person who underestimates her. Let’s give her a big round of applause, shall we?”

 

Rory is scared. He tries not to show it, but it’s there and it isn’t going away. His brother would have been calm about the whole thing, because above all else Gale was _efficient_. Not Rory, though. He feels too much and doesn’t hide it nearly enough. After the interviews, after the training, she accidentally stumbles upon him curled up with his back against a wall, chin resting on his knees. 

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

Her first instinct is to deny it, but doing so would be giving up her own chance at life. Only one comes out of the arena – she knows the rules as much as anyone else. Prim bites down on her bottom lip, moving before she answers to sit across from him.

“Just try your best. That’s all anyone can do, right?”

It’s not good enough. She sees it in the way he shakes in response and realizes that he’s more of a child than a man right now. Prim politely looks away, just in case he can’t control himself.

“Prim?”  
“…Yes?”  
“Can I kiss you?’

Silence. He feels the need to clarify. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before. And if I really am going to die...I don’t want to go without that. Sorry. Just ignore me—“

“Yes.”  
“What?”  
“I said yes, you can.”

It’s clumsy and brief. He almost misses her mouth on his first try. His breath smells like something fragrant, something Capitol made, but otherwise Prim thinks it’s okay. Certainly it isn’t anything like her childhood daydreams, back when she could afford such things. There were no feelings of true love between them, just desperation and awkwardness. 

Prim pulls back eventually, blushing faintly because no matter what, it’s still her first kiss, and she’s still only 13.

“Thank you,” she’s the one saying it, and that’s surprising. And then she reaches out and pulls him into a hug. It’s probably a stupid thing to do given that he’s going to try and kill her soon, but their families have always been intertwined. “We’re not going to die without a fight, okay? Promise.”

Rory smiles and tilts his head, skinny arms moving to wrap around her own. There’s nothing romantic or played up about it. By some criteria, they’re still children and both of them need this just as much as the other.

“Yeah. I promise.”

He thinks that maybe even if he doesn’t get back home, Gale will forgive him if he brings Katniss’ sister back. He thinks that maybe that will make his brother proud of him. 

 

Cinna’s hands are not as soft as she would have expected them to be. It matters less when she can’t even see through her own blotchy tears. The whole week she’s tried not to cry, but it hardly matters now, does it?

“I can’t do this,” Prim whispers, feeling the seconds tick by too fast. Where had the time gone? 

( _I’m not like her, Cinna. I’m not strong like her._ It’s unspoken but she might as well have advertised her thoughts to him.)

“You’re not Katniss,” he says calmly. Today, his eyeshadow is silver rather than gold – a silent nod to the person he’s crafted of her. She notices and it does a lot to calm the tears and the jerky shuddering of her chest. “But not all power is straightforward, Prim. Sometimes power is something you can’t even see.”

A silk handkerchief is pulled out of his pocket, silver too. He hands it to her before continuing. 

“Nobody expects much from you. That’s good. They won’t know what hit them. That’s why you can go in there and surprise them. Sometimes, subtlety is more powerful than anything else.”

He smoothes her hair back and readjusts the Mockingjay pin on her lapel. 

“I’ll be cheering for you.”  
“Did you tell that to Katniss, too?”

“Yes.”

For some reason it makes her feel better rather than worse.

 

Her eyes are still puffy and red when she’s lifted up into the arena, and the other tributes have surely made note of this fact, but Prim doesn’t care. Everything changes once the darkness that surrounds them is illuminated.

The arena is a maze.

Not simply just a maze, but one created in the style of the original _Labyrinth_ , because who other than the Capitol would want to eschew the virtues of the Greeks and Romans? An entire arena made of mud brick, a complete replica of the doomed city of Pompeii with a few changes. There are dozens – no, hundreds of openings and twisting alleyways, roofs and fountains. Thousands of places to hide, but also thousands of places to get lost with no way out. The reference is completely lost on Prim and the other tributes, and she stands there for her thirty seconds with shock and terror mingling in her chest. When the buzzer rings, she doesn’t move.

Three seconds later, she manages to kick herself out of it, skirting off her platform and into a dark alleyway. No Cornucopia means that she doesn’t have any food, and in a place like this she doesn’t see how there could be any. Prim just has to hope that she made a big enough impression on the sponsors for them to want to pay for her to live – because that’s what it is now. But somehow, isn’t sure that they will.

She runs until her lungs are fit to burst, which doesn’t take much and after a moment she bends over, hands planted firmly on her knees to try and catch her breath. Katniss was strong, had spent years in the woods before her Games and never gave up. 

_If Katniss couldn’t do it, how should I be able to?_

It’s a fear that has recurred ever since the reaping. Prim catches her breath and forces herself to calm down. There’s a few hours of sunlight left. She has to find water.

And Rory. Him too.


End file.
